


love is nothing, i am yours

by quirkily



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Deadlights (IT), Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, First Dates, Fix-It, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gay Richie Tozier, IT Chapter Two Fix-It, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Knife Mention, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, POV Richie Tozier, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Rated T for Trashmouth, Reddie Week 2020, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier Sees Eddie Kaspbrak's Death in the Deadlights, Richie Tozier in the Deadlights, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmates, Stanley Uris Lives, Teen Crush, The Kissing Bridge (IT), The Quarry (IT), chapter three warnings:, except we really only vaguely acknowledge that disaster, just the clown and eddies divorce actually, the clown doesn't really have any lines but still this should be the only fic he is in okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26403844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quirkily/pseuds/quirkily
Summary: seven short stories of Richie and Eddie's love throughout the years (based on prompts for reddie week 2020)"The knife is too small and he can’t get a good grip on it, gangly arms and bony wrists making the process difficult and irritating. He shifts again, turning the blade around to make the curve for the R.""If he can make Eddie fall in love with the city then it’s only a few easy steps to convince him to move here, and if he’s doing that, then he might as well move in with Richie, right?""All that exists is Richie and three lights, bright enough to block out everything else."“Soulmates. As in: Richie and Eddie, emphasis on the and.”
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32
Collections: Reddie Week 2020





	1. kissing bridge & the quarry

**Author's Note:**

> yes, I am writing these late but I still wanted to join in and I was busy for the actual week, so... 
> 
> I spent far too long trying to choose a title but it's from "generous heart" by Maya Hawke! as always you can find me at __quirkily on twitter (that's two underscores)

The wood is dry and rough, splintering underneath Richie’s fingers. The knife is too small and he can’t get a good grip on it, gangly arms and bony wrists making the process difficult and irritating. He shifts again, turning the blade around to make the curve for the R. The handle digs into his palm, then slips against his sweaty skin and nicks his finger. 

He could give up. He’s barely accomplished a line so far, no one would notice. It would blend in, just another crease in the cracked wood. 

It would be safer. 

Every whisper of the wind has Richie tensing and checking over his shoulder. He imagines he hears voices drifting up from the water and thinks of his friends; Stan, Bill, Eddie. They had planned to spend the afternoon at the quarry but maybe one of them has come to find him. The thought stills Richie’s hand. 

He imagines Eddie finding him like this, red-handed. He’s spent hours preparing for that, brainstorming jokes and excuses, but right now his tongue feels like lead in his mouth. 

He’s already late. If he leaves now he can get to the quarry without raising any suspicion. He can always try again another day. 

Maybe he’s wrong, anyway. Maybe this feeling in his chest isn’t what he thinks it is. 

A car rumbles down the road past the bridge and before it sidles out of view Richie has already pocketed the knife and is sprinting towards the quarry. 

It becomes clear as soon as he makes it to the quarry that afternoon that he would have to go back. The panic he’d been feeling had clearly given him memory loss because otherwise, he would have remembered that there was no misinterpreting what he was feeling and no hope of it going away.

All it takes is Eddie glaring at him and saying, “What took you so long, dipshit?” for Richie to think,  _ Oh yeah, that’s right. I’m totally fucked. _

So he says, “Sorry, I had a hot steamy date with your-” and Eddie shoves him under the water and Richie splashes him in the face and grins as Eddie screams about ingesting micro-organisms and then Richie makes some shitty joke about swallowing, all the time buzzing under the attention. 

  
  


He spends the afternoon stuck in his own head, turning it over and over, trying to figure out when he’ll get another opportunity to sneak away without his friends noticing. 

It’s coming up to the summer holidays and if they’re not going to spend days at the quarry, then they’ll probably be at Stan’s house, and if not there, then at Richie’s house because saying he doesn’t want his friends over is the fastest way to raise suspicion. 

Richie’s chest is straining under the weight of something he’s desperate to let out. He imagines telling them, sometimes. But the words are heavy and terrifying and there’s constant laughter in his ears. Besides, who would he tell? He can’t choose between Bill and Stan, his oldest friends, and the idea of both of them knowing, the potential to lose both of them, is terrifying. The thought of Eddie knowing is the worst thing imaginable. He doesn’t know if Bill or Stan would keep it a secret anyway, let alone from their best friend Eddie, and even if they did, it doesn’t sit right with Richie; all of them keeping something from him like that. Especially when out of all of them, he’s the one who deserves to know, he’s the one directly involved in Richie’s weird thoughts. 

So carving it into an old shitty piece of wood, like a scene from some low budget romance movie --if they made those for people like him-- is still looking like his best option, many months after the idea occurred to him. 

He doesn’t make it back to the bridge until after everything goes to shit. 

There’s a monster out to get them, and it got  _ Georgie _ , and it had hurt Eddie which Richie had tried to fix but he’s useless and pathetic and had just made it worse; Eddie’s mum had told him so as she smuggled him away and everything she says is utter crap, but this time Richie thinks she’s probably right to tell him to stay away. 

Perhaps worst of all, Bill had punched him in the face like one of Richie’s worst nightmares come to life. 

He’s always known this town was out to get him but the danger feels real now, in a way it never did before. Bowers is worse, somehow, frenzied and manic. Richie’s secret feels closer, on the tip of his tongue, carefully held but precarious, in danger of spilling over or being pulled out. It’s always been a rumour, a joke, but Richie genuinely fears that people might actually  _ know _ now. Richie stares too long or stands too close or fails to follow some rule everyone else just  _ understands _ but can’t be bothered to teach him, and then Bowers is shouting it through the arcade and they all  _ know _ . 

He’s met a monster and it played on his fears, coy and gleeful, metaphors of claustrophobic rooms and dead puppet boys, teasing him and holding the knowledge just over his head. He’s not sure if the threat is worse than a confession. Except, he’s got more people to lose now. Maybe they’re not friends anymore after the fight, Richie’s not sure, but they’re still six entire people he doesn’t want to disappoint. Maybe they don’t like him right now, but Richie doesn’t want them to  _ hate _ him. 

He ends up back on the bridge. It’s for the same reason as before, kind of, that desperation to let out the feeling just a little bit. It’s more than that this time, though. Richie has felt pure terror and knows now the power that fear has, how immobilising it can be, how isolating. Richie doesn’t want to be afraid of himself. 

He carves R+E into the kissing bridge, for all of Derry to see. 


	2. first date & confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie’s already agreed to stay with him for a few days, Richie just wants to extend the invitation. To a few months, and then forever, if possible. Which is why he’s decided to spend the evening showing Eddie just how wonderful L.A. is. If he can make Eddie fall in love with the city then it’s only a few easy steps to convince him to move here, and if he’s doing that, then he might as well move in with Richie, right? It’s logical, convenient, a good plan by all accounts. Perfectly Eddie-proof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this idea really took hold of me and didn't let go... I was aiming for all these short stories to be around 1k and I spent so long on the first one, but then this one more than doubled that lmao 
> 
> shoutout to andy for the awesome ketchup shirt that Richie considers at the beginning! 
> 
> disclaimer that I have never been to L.A. and relied entirely on second-hand stories and a quick google search, thanks!
> 
> if you enjoy, don't forget to come and chat with me at __quirkily (two underscores) on twitter !!

Richie changes his shirt for the third time. Which is not an unreasonable amount, he supposes, but one glance at the growing pile of discarded pants, socks, and now shirts, tells a very obvious story of a man in crisis. 

He’d started off casual. After all, he isn’t going anywhere he hasn’t been before. He isn’t going with anyone he doesn’t know. Therefore, his usual attire is fine. It’s not like he needs to impress anyone.

Except, he  _ wants _ to impress Eddie. He spent his entire adolescence desperately trying to win Eddie’s approval, or at the very least his attention, and he’s about to see him again for the first time in almost two months (forty-eight days, to be exact) and nothing has changed. Richie is still a loudmouth idiot in love with his best friend who will embarrass himself at every opportunity to make Eddie laugh or frown or curse him out. 

So the second shirt is worse than the first one, trading in his button-down with a neat print of fried eggs for a large t-shirt that reads “I DRINK HEINZ TOMATO KETCHUP STRAIGHT FROM THE BOTTLE BECAUSE I’M DEPRESSED.” Then Richie realises his goal of _impressing_ _Eddie_ had turned into _trying to piss Eddie off,_ two states that get confused in his mind more frequently than he likes, and so the third shirt attempt is a classy blue long sleeve he’d worn to a premiere.

Which is  _ too _ fancy and expensive for a noodle joint down the road. So now Richie is all out of ideas and in a state of haphazard partial undress in front of his bedroom mirror. 

He’s tempted to call Beverly for advice, except that would require explaining how he is treating a completely platonic evening like it’s a date, and he doesn’t particularly feel like being told to “ask for it to be a date, then” or “express his feelings” or any number of things that sound so simple and promising in theory. 

He wants Eddie to stay, is the thing. He’s just finalised his divorce and is looking for somewhere new, dropping by to see Richie before figuring out his next steps, but Richie wants those next steps to be  _ him _ . Sure, romantically, but also he’s just found Eddie again and he wants him in his life as much as possible. The month-long breaks in-between visits have been killing him slowly. Eddie’s already agreed to stay with him for a few days, Richie just wants to extend the invitation. To a few months, and then forever, if possible. Which is why he’s decided to spend the evening showing Eddie just how wonderful L.A. is. If he can make Eddie fall in love with the city then it’s only a few easy steps to convince him to move here, and if he’s doing that, then he might as well move in with Richie, right? It’s logical, convenient, a good plan by all accounts. Perfectly Eddie-proof. 

Except Richie is still not dressed to leave and his phone says he’s running late and maybe his outfit won’t be impressive after all, but he definitely can’t convince Eddie to stay if he doesn’t even turn up for dinner! 

He puts the egg shirt back on. And then changes his jeans to a pair with a less obvious stain. And then brushes his hair, grabs his keys and wallet, goes back to put on his shoes, and then he’s out the door. 

The restaurant is busy when he gets there and Eddie is hovering anxiously out the front. 

He frowns at Richie when he sees him. “What took you so long, asshole? This place is way too busy. I didn’t know if you had booked, I assumed not but it meant I couldn’t ask for a table in case you had,” he looks at the door suddenly as if seeing it for the first time, “I don’t even know if they do bookings here.” He turns back to Richie and points at him accusingly, “I also didn’t want to be that one dickhead taking up a table and not ordering because I didn’t know when you were coming.” He checks his watch even though Richie’s sure he knows what time it is, “because you’re _ half an hour late _ .”

“So,” he says, meeting Richie’s eyes, “I haven’t gone in or ordered and have just been standing here in the cold.” 

“It’s L.A.” Richie says, grinning, “It’s not cold.” 

“You’re late,” Eddie snaps as if that saves his argument. 

“We grew up in Maine,” Richie adds.

“Shut up,” Eddie says, “It’s good to see you.” 

“Likewise, Spaghetti man,” Richie says as he’s pulled into a tight hug. 

It’s a relatively new practice of Eddie’s, something he got from therapy about reinforcing positive affection. They’re always short and stilted, Eddie pulling away before he gets the chance to sink into them. Richie’s been looking forward to one ever since Eddie told him he was flying out.

“Well let’s get some takeaway then,” Richie pushes the door open. 

Eddie looks startled but follows him in. “What should I get?” 

“Tragically I have to inform you that they don’t serve spaghetti here, even though I have told them many times that they should,” Richie starts. 

“We do egg noodles, not pasta, Richie,” Stella, his favourite waitress says as she walks past to serve a table. 

“They’re the same thing!” He replies just for the sake of the argument.

Eddie rolls his eyes, “I don’t want spaghetti, anyway. What do you normally get?” 

He points out his meat lovers supreme noodle box, which Eddie scrunches his nose at, and then he gives him the health kick menu which Eddie contemplates but sets aside, much to Richie’s delight. Eddie compromises and gets a Pad Thai with extra vegetables. 

Richie would like to take credit for planning on the restaurant being busy, but instead, it is a convenient excuse to start his surprise grand tour of L.A. early. Eddie seems confused at first when Richie suggests a walk, clearly expecting them to take the noodles back to Richie's place, but he agrees easily enough. 

The thing about L.A., though, is that it is not a walking city. It is not a place you take an  _ evening stroll _ around. This, of course, does not occur to Richie until after he suggests it, so then he is stuck trying to casually herd Eddie towards a cab and pretend that this was what he had meant all along. Eddie, being Eddie, strictly refuses to eat in a moving vehicle and so the two of them awkwardly stand on a street corner eating takeout. Richie tries to make a joke but Eddie tells him not to choke on his food, so now they are standing on the corner in complete silence, listening to the sounds of traffic and drunk socialites out on the town. 

Richie spends this time contemplating where he should take Eddie. It’s been a long time since he was new to L.A. and out seeing the sights. 

They finish their noodles and spend an unreasonable amount of time weaving through people to find a bin. “Okay,” Richie says, “Any other trials I must complete before you agree to take a cab with me?”

Eddie rolls his eyes but gestures out at the road, “Go ahead, then.”

They go to Santa Monica Pier. 

“Why is it so bright?” Eddie grumbles, squinting at the neon lights coming from every direction. 

“That’s the appeal, baby!” Richie says spinning around with his arms outstretched, “That’s the brand!” 

Eddie reaches out and grabs him, “Careful, dipshit, you’re going to knock someone over. It’s crowded as shit out here.” 

Richie shrugs, “It’s L.A., everywhere’s busy, all the time. Same as New York, you should be used to it.”

Richie hopes he’s used to it or his plan is failing before it even begins. 

Eddie scans their surroundings, “So what are we doing?” 

“Uhh,” Riche suggest the first thing he sees, “Ferris Wheel?”

Eddie glares daggers at him, “Absolutely fucking not.”

“Boardwalk games?” He tries again. Eddie considers this and shrugs, so they make their way down the pier, the sea air filled with showtune jingles and laughter. Richie notices the clown game and shivers. They keep walking. 

“Oh,” Eddie says quietly, and Richie follows his gaze to a dart game with giant plushies hanging under signs declaring their prize value. 

“Want me to win you a giant bear, Eds?” He asks, even as he kicks himself for it. _Fucking subtle, Trashmouth, you massive cliche._

“No,” Eddie says slowly, frowning, and Richie bites his cheek ready to quickly divert the conversation elsewhere, but then Eddie says, “I want to win  _ you _ a bear.” He looks up quickly as if the words have only just registered and blushes, “I-I mean. I haven’t played anything like this before, the darts…” 

He trails off, but Richie gets it. He’s glad suddenly that they came here, if only for Eddie to be able to do things he hasn’t tried and probably wouldn’t have by himself. The idea of being gifted a giant plushie is foolish and unrealistic, Eddie hasn’t even played before, but Richie is swooning anyway. 

Eddie fires the darts at the balloons with a determination in his eyes that is so terrifying Richie feels bad for the poor teenager working the stall. But he doesn’t feel  _ too _ bad about it, because then Eddie turns it on him and says quietly, “Which one do you want, Rich?”

Richie startles, so distracted that he hadn’t realised Eddie had actually  _ won _ , so he silently points at the turtle. Eddie nods at the stall attendant who gets it down for him and wishes them a happy night. Richie hugs the turtle tight to his chest as if it will stop the emotion from spilling over, “Thanks, Eddie.” 

Eddie scratches his neck awkwardly, “That’s okay. It was fun. Thanks for taking me here, Rich.”

Richie just bobs his head, “No problemo.” They walk in silence for a little while, and Richie’s not sure if it’s a good or bad sort of quiet. It’s the type where you’re both lost in thought. He wonders what Eddie’s thinking about. 

“Want to play some more games?” he asks. Eddie agrees easily enough, so they pass the time catching ducks, spinning wheels, and shooting water guns at witches. Eddie refuses to go on anything that moves, but that’s fine with Richie. They spot a churro stand which seems like a good dessert to end the night on, right until Richie tries to take full advantage of the serve-yourself condiment section and ends up squirting Eddie with chocolate sauce. 

“The bottle was faulty?” he tries but to his utter astonishment, Eddie takes one look at his ruined shirt and burst out laughing. He has an obnoxious laugh, one to rival Richie’s own, taking up space and inviting attention. It’s beautiful. Everything about Eddie is beautiful. 

Eddie grins at him and squirts him back with strawberry sauce before quickly apologising to the people in line behind them, and dragging Richie away. Richie’s having the best night of his life, and he wants more of them, forever, but that means he has to get Eddie to stay. He’s not sure that a fun trip to the pier is enough to convince him, and as quick as the joy had filled him, it disappears. Eddie seems to pick up on the shift in mood and the walk back towards the start of the boardwalk, once again eating in silence. 

Eddie points out a bench seat and they sit together, gazing out at the night sky. “I had a good time tonight, Rich,” he says softly. Richie fears whatever ‘but’ comes at the end of that sentence. Eddie doesn’t say anything else.

“Me too,” he agrees. He wants to add something about how often they could do this if Eddie moved in with him, but he doesn’t. “L.A. isn’t so bad after all, huh?” he says instead. 

Eddie frowns, “Of course not, you’re here?”

Richie grins and then falters, “Wait, what?”

Eddie looks at him like he’s an idiot, which he probably is, “I came here to see you? Obviously I don’t think it’s terrible.”

“Saying you wouldn’t come to visit me if I lived in a shithole, Eds?” Richie teases.

“What?” Eddie is looking more confused by the second, “No. I mean, I like it here  _ because _ you’re here. I came here because I want to see  _ you _ .” 

Richie gapes at him for a second. It makes complete sense that Eddie would travel all this way just to see him, they’re  _ best friends,  _ and yet the thought had not even occurred to him. “I thought…,” he tries again, “You said you were looking for a fresh start.”

“And you thought, what? I wanted to come to L.A. for a new beginning like all the young things do?” There’s a curve to his lips that Richie can’t look away from.

“No,” he frowns, “I mean, I thought you meant you wanted to move  _ somewhere _ new, I was going to convince you that it should be L.A.,” he adds weakly, “with me.”

Eddie’s looking at him in a way that Richie can’t decipher, but it’s got his heart pounding in his chest. “You don’t think that  _ you’re _ the key part of that offer, Rich, not the city?” 

Richie had thought it would be easier to convince Eddie to move to yet another bustling city of traffic and tourists than it would be to convince him to move in with  _ Richie _ . His plan had been slow and meticulous, designed around Eddie’s cautious personality. Except, Eddie has never been cautious when it counts. He stomps on his fears and breaks everyone’s expectations of him. No plan is ever truly  _ Eddie-proof. _ Richie had stupidly forgotten this, because here’s Eddie in front of him, staring at him fondly and telling him that the only thing in this awful city he cares about is Richie. He won him a _ giant plush turtle _ .

“I’d love to move in with you, Richie,” he says, cupping his face gently, and then they’re kissing. Again, and again, and again, as the busy nightlife behind them bustles past with no indication of stopping. Someone shouts victoriously into the air, and they both pull apart to laugh into each other’s mouths. 

“Y’know,” Richie says with a smirk, “I’m going to tell Bill and Mike that you don’t give a shit about them.”

Eddie looks furious, “They’re not even here! They’re in the middle of their midlife crisis road trip!”

Richie shakes his head in mock-disdain, “Doesn’t matter, Eds, they still live here and you said what you said.” 

Eddie his eyes, and says, “Yes I did, you menace,” and then they’re kissing again. 

Richie kisses him back intently, one delirious thought ringing through his mind.

_ Forever.  _


	3. deadlights & token

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All that exists is Richie and three lights, bright enough to block out everything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I got completely swamped with exams and assignments last week, apologies! I'm back with the third instalment now though, and these are already late, so hey, all good, right? 
> 
> This one's darker than the first two and deals with more clown stuff, but I still like to keep all of my fics optimistic with happy endings, so hopefully, it's not too bad... 
> 
> content warnings; implied homophobia, references to violence, potential death, suicide attempt, blood loss, knee injury, vague suicidal ideation/acceptance of death that is being heavily influenced by the deadlights. to be clear, everyone lives because that is the type of writer that I am!!!

All that exists is Richie and three lights, bright enough to block out everything else. He’s spent his entire life chasing this type of anonymous attention; it’s why he was always drawn to the stage. Rushing adrenaline without the fear of being seen up close, everything washed out and hazy through shitty bar lighting or massive theatre spotlights. It’s not healthy, he knows. A bad coping mechanism. He’s been told so by so many casual acquaintances he had begun to think L.A. gave people psychology degrees through osmosis. A professional would probably agree if Richie had ever bothered to get one. 

He doesn’t feel high on life right now. His chest is being crushed under the weight of his failure, and his mind is not in front of an audience, but rather inside every backstage bathroom he’s ever been in, curled over a toilet and squinting away from the bright fluorescents. 

_ Fraud,  _ say the lights.  _ Coward.  _

He knows where he is. Bev never spoke about what it had felt like, but watching her suspended in mid-air with a face so blank, Richie had imagined her mind to be blank as well. Or at least: broken, confused, jumbled. These are not inaccurate, Richie concedes, but he isn’t sure how much of his fucked up brain can honestly be attributed to the lights. A fair chunk of trauma is due to the clown, sure, but Richie would have ended up a screw up anyway. 

He sees that now. He  _ understands _ . 

All of this is unavoidable. IT is just a creature of the universe, doing what it was made to. They are all just creatures of the universe, doing what they were made to. 

Richie was made to die. 

He’s been told so all of his life via slurs and fists and pointed jokes. Everyone who has seen the truth of him knows this, and he has spent his life desperately covering it up, but now he is stripped raw. 

He hears Eddie say, “I knew it!” and the lights repeat,  _ Fraud. Coward.  _

Richie has always been too literal, too on the nose, too obviously ironic. Find a token, Mike had said, and so Richie had found one to fit two meanings of the word. Who was he without innuendo? Say one thing and mean another. 

They had all seen something in him that day in the arcade, he had watched it seep into their eyes, and now the surrounding blaze burns this knowledge back into him. His token had gone up in flames and now so does he.

He might not die in this moment, Richie knows. He can see possibilities and futures stretch out in front of him and he accepts, maybe not now, but soon. 

He thinks of Bev mouthing along to a phone call and then he sees a claw spearing through the air.  _ Unavoidable _ . Infinite paths and all of them circling back here, to this moment. 

Eddie is going to die. He remembers it as if it was yesterday, a week ago, in another lifetime. It is distant and unreachable and there is nothing he can do about it. Everyone’s fate is determined by some force that is greater than all of them, and Richie  _ knows _ , he can see a bathtub and a bloody shirt and broken glasses. He has no power here. 

_ Coward. Fraud.  _

Except-- 

Richie trembles but stays hovering in place. He feels a shiver work its way down his neck. His thoughts drift away as the hazy steam works its way back into his mind. It would be nice to stay here in the warmth, he thinks, to slowly fall apart in the light. It would be better than what awaits him on the other side of this. 

_ Unavoidable unavoidable unavoidable unavoidable unavoidable unavoidable unavoidable un-- _

Avoidable. 

Richie latches onto this thought with a ferocity that startles him but he knows loosening his grip for even a second will mean the end.  _ Eddie, _ he thinks,  _ Eddie is strong and brave and he won’t give up and neither will I.  _

What sort of bullshit is  _ unavoidable?  _ Everything’s avoidable. Richie can think of infinite moments that would have made his life go in different directions, he sees himself finishing his degree, staying in Chicago and never going to L.A., he knows what happens in the timeline where he flunks that first audition and never hires Steve. Shit, something as small as a carving on a bridge has had a ripple effect through his life.

Most importantly, he sees  _ Stanley,  _ the fucking asshole, his best friend, in a hospital bed with his beautiful wife holding his hand and he thinks,  _ even death can be avoided.  _

Bev had known, she had seen, and now Richie  _ understands. _ He opens his eyes and begins to fall. 

The jolt through his legs is ruthless and the tendrils of light in his mind supply him with images of two canes at the front door to his home, and he thinks  _ two _ , and  _ home,  _ and then Eddie is above him and Richie pulls him up so when the claw comes it is  _ lower,  _ and then they are rolling and Richie is taking off his shirt and  _ pressure on the wound, that’s basic first aid, Richie, you dumbass!  _

It’s missed all major organs and arteries, and he doesn’t question how he knows this, grateful for it.  _ Blood loss,  _ he thinks,  _ all we need to worry about is Eddie losing too much blood.  _ They can get to a hospital in time, he knows they can. 

Eddie is blinking up at him, dazed, and then he says, “the clown.” 

_ Fuck _ . Richie is missing a step in his grand escape plan. 

Mike yells something but Richie is too frantic to process it. He feels himself start to tune out and he doesn’t have time for that, he needs to  _ focus,  _ but all he can hear is his heart pounding in his ears. The other losers are gathering around them now and Richie grabs onto snippets of conversation -- leper, small, confined, cave, no,  _ clown _ . 

Someone is dragging Richie and he fights for a moment, mumbling, “no, Eddie” but the others have him as well, and they’re all moving as one entity, and then they are screaming together, a chorus of insults, “you’re just a clown,” and “an old woman”, “a painting” and “a bully.” Nothing scary. Nothing  _ real _ . 

“Fraud,” Richie yells, “Coward!” 

They end it with their hands squeezed together; The Losers Club united in this cycle of destruction and redemption. Richie clings to Eddie tightly, carrying most of his weight as they all stumble and jostle through the crumbling cave, and Eddie grasps his hand back just as fiercely. 

They keep holding on to each other outside of the cave, and then outside of Derry, and in a sense, they never really let go. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see!! everyone lives!! even my angst ends with sappy lines, this is what you can expect from me :)
> 
> sorry to be a broken record but uhh come talk to me at __quirkily on twitter (yes, two underscores, and I promise I'm friendly!!)
> 
> I thrive on comments so please let me know if you enjoy :')


	4. wedding/soulmate au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because seriously, soulmates? 
> 
> It’s absurd. Unrealistic. Too fucking good to be true.
> 
> Except then the idea sticks with him. Soulmates. As in: Richie and Eddie, emphasis on the and.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'know that bake-off meme where it's like "started making it, had a breakdown... bon appetite" yeah that's me with this. sorry it took so long and is just a lot of prose, i really wasn't feeling dialogue for a while there. anyway this gave me free choice for an AU and i love me a soulmate au, i have a ridiculous amount of them planned as wip but somehow this is the first one I've ever actually written and published and it's not even a proper one. i have no idea how to write proposals OR weddings so this is what i came up with... enjoy anyway! 
> 
> if u haven't already, come talk to me on twitter @__quirkily (two underscores) !!

The idea strikes Richie as odd at first. He loves Mike and is always fascinated by his endless knowledge of legends and myths, but that doesn’t mean he always believes them. Mike knows this and always carries that amused tone in his voice as if to say,  _ I know you don’t believe me. Your loss.  _ And Richie always responds with his own teasing tone,  _ I’m glad you’re having fun with your fairytales, Mikey.  _

Because seriously,  _ soulmates?  _

It’s absurd. Unrealistic. Too fucking good to be true. And like, sure, maybe they exist for  _ some people _ , he’s seen too much magic in his lifetime to discredit the idea completely, but Mike isn’t speaking in general terms -- he’s being incredibly specific, and specific about  _ Richie _ . Which challenges Richie’s worldview just enough for him to crack a joke and move the conversation in another direction. 

Except then the idea sticks with him.  _ Soulmates.  _ As in: Richie and Eddie, emphasis on the  _ and _ . They’ve been dating for two months. Which is not long if you compare it to the enormous stretch of time that they’ve been friends, but is an incredibly big milestone if you instead compare it to Richie’s history of short (and not at all sweet) relationships. He doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it -- their anniversary and the soulmate thing that’s not even really a thing except now Richie keeps  _ noticing it.  _

The problem is that it makes sense. Richie and Eddie have always been on the same wavelength, always known what the other was thinking or feeling, but now he wonders if there’s more to that than he thought. Small actions like Eddie passing him the exact mug he wanted without asking for it has Richie staring at his coffee like it will provide him with the answers to the universe. Unless the secret to life is that “abs are cool but have you tried donuts?” Richie doesn’t think the mug is going to help. 

_ “It’s a type of mental connection,”  _ Mike had said,  _ “Linking two people together.”  _ Which is some vague fucking bullshit but now Richie can’t help wondering if it’s true. What if this is an instance where he should listen to Mike, and he doesn’t and then what? He’s soulmates with Eddie fucking Kaspbrak, and he doesn’t  _ know _ ? A week ago he wouldn’t have cared but now it feels so tragic his chest aches. 

He keeps replaying the events that happened during Neibolt: Guess We’re Doing This Bullshit Again in his mind, over and over; how they had moved together, how Richie had thought the closets were for him but now he’s not sure they weren’t aimed at  _ both  _ of them, but mainly Eddie saving Richie, Richie saving Eddie. 

The thought of Eddie had pulled him out of the fucking deadlights all on its own and that must mean  _ something _ . 

Right?

He’s tempted to call Mike again but he is both stubborn and anxious, and any time it occurs to him Eddie is around. Richie might be obnoxious but the idea of discussing being soulmates with someone where that someone could potentially hear you, to a  _ mutual friend _ , is mortifying. 

So he just sits with it. Or rather, fidgets, paces, and bakes a ridiculous amount of cakes about it. He is so self-absorbed with his own anxious coping mechanisms that he doesn’t pay any attention to Eddie’s stress cleaning and shorter than usual temper. 

And then, Eddie proposes. 

It blindsides Richie  _ hard.  _ Here he is, worrying that the concept of soulmates is too much pressure on a two-month relationship, and here’s Eddie, wanting to get married. Like, he wants to marry  _ Richie _ . Which is something he hadn’t bothered considering because he knew too fucking well how much it hurt to spend time longing for something you couldn’t have. 

So in a matter of weeks, Richie has to reestablish his understanding of the universe and love and Eddie, not once, but  _ twice _ . He thinks he should probably be used to that by now. He looks forward to Eddie upending his life over and over again, forever.

“I think you’re my soulmate, Eds,” he says. 

Eddie laughs, “I’ll take it you want this ring then?”

Richie nods and waves his hand at him until Eddie grabs it and slips it on his finger. Richie grins and kisses him and says “we’re getting hitched!” 

“Yeah, Richie, we are,” Eddie laughs softly into his mouth. 

“Tying the knot,” Richie continues, “Consummating our love--”

Eddie hits him on the shoulder but he’s grinning, “You’re such a dork. I love you.”

  
So maybe Richie doesn’t  _ completely _ buy into Mike’s psychic link mythology, but he reckons he can safely say Eddie is his soulmate anyway. Some fairytales are worth believing in. 


End file.
